


Old Haunts

by caswell



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Urban Exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: When Michael and Jeremy stumble upon an abandoned Key Food, it becomes a second home to them all throughout their high school years, housing confessions, internal battles, and generous amounts of weed.





	Old Haunts

**Author's Note:**

> dshfgbdsfg OKAY DISCLAIMER. I've never done urban exploration so if you're like an expert in that... don't @ me.  
> Shoutout to my boy Ithiel (seasaltvamp on tumblr) for helping me with the confession playlist! Love you!!! Alistair the cat is also his :3c

The first time Michael and Jeremy come across the abandoned Key Food, it's the fall of their freshman year of high school. Their curfew had been bumped back to 10 by Michael's moms- Jeremy had been staying there an awful lot since the divorce- so they'd taken the opportunity to go on a nice nighttime walk; it's a good way to blow off steam, after all, and that's just what Jeremy needs.

“I can already tell high school is gonna be garbage,” he mutters. His hands are stuck deep in the pocket of his jeans as he walks, slightly hunched over, at Michael's side. “The kids suck. The teachers suck. The only thing that doesn't suck is you… and, I guess, the girls.”

Michael rolls his eyes at that. “Alright, horndog.”

“Not the point,” Jeremy says, and flicks Michael’s temple, earning him a punch in the arm. “Ow, hey.”

“Well, anyway- at least it's only four years,” Michael points out. “We're already fourteen, we can live with that, right?” He claps Jeremy on the back and grins. “After that is college, and we'll go to parties and get... girlfriends… and shit.”

“Dude, four years is _forever,”_ Jeremy says, fixing Michael with a miserable stare. “We're only two months into the ninth grade and I'm already losing.”

“You can't lose at high school, man, what're you talking about?” Michael says. “Just, like… make friends with the other underdogs, they're cool too. And hey- you've always got me.”

That gets a little bit of a smile from Jeremy. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “Thanks.” The thought is comforting, sure, but he wishes Michael would be a little more empathetic. That, or he wishes he himself could care less about his social standing and be as carefree as Michael. It's weird that they're friends, almost, since Michael is so much cooler and more confident than he is, but he ended up being a loser, too, for God knows what reasons.

Jeremy doesn't have much time to muse about how much he admires him, though, because now Michael’s tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie and pointing to the horizon. “Hey, didn't that Key Food close down, like, four months ago?” Michael asks, cocking his head as they approach.

“That’s what I thought, too,” Jeremy answers. “Why haven't they replaced it with something else?”

“I dunno, man,” Michael answers with a shrug. “...You wanna go check it out?”

Jeremy considers it for a moment. If they broke in, that'd be super illegal, but nobody would catch them- and anyway, who would press charges? It's just an abandoned building. Plus, it'd be super fun to poke around in. He's always wanted to try urban exploration. “Sure, why not?” he says. “Could be interesting.”

The front door, of course, is firmly locked, and Michael frowns at it in distaste. “You didn't happen to bring a bobby pin with you, huh?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Yeah, no dice, bud.”

“...Unfortunate,” Michael says. “Uh, stand back a little.”

“What, you're not seriously gonna break-”

No, he definitely is. With endless determination, Michael starts to kick ferociously at the glass door, which seems to be surprisingly sturdy. After a few minutes, wherein he'd switched from kicking to throwing himself at the door, and wherein Jeremy watched him with a flat, vaguely amused gaze, a small, thin crack starts to cut through the glass. “Oh, hells yeah,” Michael says smugly. “See? Toldja I could do it.”

“You haven't done it yet,” Jeremy says. “It's just a crack.” But sure enough, a couple times more and Michael is tumbling into the store, landing on his hands and knees in a pile of broken glass. “Whoa, are you alright?”

Michael gets shakily to his feet and brushes off his knees,  wincing a little before he starts to pick glass off of his hands. “Yeah, yeah, I'm good,” he says, then turns to face Jeremy. “Well? Are you coming?”

Jeremy nods as he steps inside- harder than it sounds, since only the bottom half of the door is broken- and takes a good look around at the familiar interior of the building. It looks the same as it always did, just… much dustier now, and gutted out like a fish; there’s just blank space where the food once was. “It's weird being in here this time of night,” he says, checking his phone- 8:30. “And weirder when it's empty.”

“You can say that again,” Michael agrees. “C’mon, you wanna see if we can get into the offices in the back? Maybe they were left unlocked.”

“Ooh, I hope so,” Jeremy says, and, as it finally settles in that they've broken into an abandoned building at night with nobody around, his heart begins to beat a little faster. “This is _so cool,”_ he adds, grinning.

“It so is,” Michael says, turning to smile back at him. “And we are, too. Do uncool people break into abandoned stores? No way.”

“Maybe we _are_ cool,” Jeremy says, and nods, smile widening.

By some stroke of luck, the doors to the offices in back are unlocked; there's no real reason to lock them up that last time, anyway. The nameplates have all been taken down, but the one Michael and Jeremy step into looks like it's for someone important- the store's manager, presumably. There's still a desk and chair sitting there for some reason, as well as a window overlooking the rear parking lot of the store. “Think there's any secret paperwork here?” Michael wonders out loud. “Treasonous government information… drug ring profit spreadsheets…”

“Personal accounts of brutal serial murders?” Jeremy suggests.

“Exactly! Now, let's take a look in these-” Michael rounds the corner of the desk to look at whatever drawers lie waiting for him, but jumps back with a sudden shriek, clinging to Jeremy. “Ah, fuck!”

Sitting in the corner of the space beneath the desk is a large sewer rat, minding its own furry business as it sits cleaning its whiskers. It doesn't even glance up at Michael.

Jeremy snickers. “What, that freaked out over a cute little rat?”

“It's not cute!” Michael protests. “It's _grimy._ It's probably got rabies.”

“You wanna find out?” Jeremy asks, wiggling his eyebrows, and makes a move to pick up the rat. This time the rat does notice, and, with a startled squeak, runs away from the two of them and through the door.

“You disgust me, Jeremy Heere,” Michael says, but there's a tone of laughter in his voice that tells him he's just kidding.

Jeremy hops up onto the desk and crosses his legs. “Nahhh, you love me,” he says with a smirk.

Michael follows, sitting next to Jeremy as always, and replies, “Maybe just a little.”

“Awww… that's gay, bro,” Jeremy jokes, because he's fourteen and _nobody_ is perfect when they're fourteen.

Michael is quiet for a couple moments, then says, “Aw, shut up, I eat pussy for breakfast.”

“Ew, gross, _you_ shut up,” Jeremy says, and laughs, punching Michael gently in the shoulder. “...Anyway.” There's silence then, each of them thinking of what to say to fill the quiet, abandoned room. “We should come here again,” Jeremy finally says. “It could be our _place,_ y'know?”

Michael seems to cheer up at that. “Oh, hells yeah,” he says, and grins. “This place rules.”

“We could, like, talk about feelings and shit,” Jeremy says. “Oh, okay, actually, that sounds stupid…”

Michael shakes his head vigorously. “Nah, dude, I get it. It's a good place to vent. ...Or to smoke.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Michael, you don't even know where to get weed.”

 _“_ Well, _actually,”_ Michael says, sounding like a Men's Rights Activist, “I asked some of those kids who are, like, clearly stoners, and they told me to talk to some kid named Dustin Kropp.”

“Hm.” Jeremy is quiet for a few seconds. “...Think I could get in on the action? I've always wanted to try it.”

“Jeremy, I literally _just_ invited you to smoke weed with me,” Michael says, and ruffles Jeremy's hair. “Yeah, man, I'll share. But you've gotta give me money for the pipe.”

Jeremy smoothes down his hair as he shrugs. “Yeah, alright.”

Michael swings his legs back and forth, tapping at the desk with his shoes. “...Are you really scared of being a loser all the way through high school?” he asks eventually.

Jeremy nods. “Yeah, man. I mean, look at me. I'm a skinny little dumbass with no connections and no charisma.”

“Yeah, but you're _my_ skinny little dumbass with no connections and no charisma,” Michael says. “All we gotta do is survive. So what if we're losers? High school is only four years out of our entire _lives.”_

“I know, but… I wanna enjoy it,” Jeremy says. “I want it to be special. Everyone says your high school years are the greatest years of your life.”

“Buddy, the people who say that are college dropouts who work as waitresses in small town diners,” Michael says. “You? You're gonna be the coolest guy in town by the time we're outta college. Hell, you're gonna be a video game journalist! That's awesome!”

“I guess,” Jeremy says, unconvinced. “I just don't wanna wait that long.” Still, a smile crosses his face when he says, “At least we've got each other.”

Michael grins back at him. “Yeah, man, at least we do.” He frowns. “Oh- what time is it?” he mumbles, looking down at his watch. “9:15- we should get going.”

Jeremy nods. “Look, I love your moms, but I don't wanna face their wrath _ever.”_

“They can be preeeetty harsh,” Michael agrees. He slides off the desk, Jeremy following close behind, and gives the room one last look over. “Well… bye, Key Food,” he says. “We'll meet again.”

And they do.

 

The pipe feels heavy in Michael's backpack, weighing him down like an anchor along with his Pisces-themed lighter and the weed he's bought from the aforementioned sophomore, Dustin Kropp. He walks anxiously beside Jeremy to the Key Food, giddy with nervous excitement. Besides breaking into the grocery store, having this on him is the most illegal thing he's ever done, and it feels… exhilarating. How will it feel when he's actually smoking it? He's heard it's like spacing out, but happier, like you're floating. It sounds _good._

“This is _awesome,”_ Jeremy says with a bright grin. “Like, this is insane! This is so cool.”

“Yeah, man,” Michael agrees, holding a palm out for Jeremy to slap, which he does. “And the stuff was pretty cheap, too. Just ten bucks a gram.”

“Really? That's awesome!” Jeremy repeats. “And your moms are pretty nice about your allowance.”

“It's because I'm a delightful young man and I help out with chores all the time,” Michael explains proudly, puffing out his chest. “Now c'mon, ‘s over there.”

It's been two months, but the store's front door still hasn't been replaced; the city's probably got better things to spend its money on- if it can even be called a city, it's tiny as hell. Anyway, the two of them are still able to get in and out with ease, and, for the most part, their visits don't coincide with those of the other urban explorers and/or vodka-pounding junkies that stalk like ghosts through the aisles, just like them.

Jeremy bends his knees and steps into the store, kicking around the glass that's still scattered across the laminated tile like a splatter of shining paint as he waits for Michael to join him. “Hurry up, dude, I wanna crack this stuff open,” he says, turning around to face the other boy.

“Crack it open?” Michael snorts. “Weirdo.  And I'm _trying.”_ He pushes his backpack in through the shattered hole in the glass, then crawls in himself.

“Did you bring stuff to snack on?” Jeremy asks. “I’ve heard about the munchies.”

Michael nods. “I got beef jerky, fruit snacks, pretzels, and Cheez-Its. I think the cheese flavor is artificial, so it’s still kosher, right?”

Jeremy just answers with a shrug.

The office in the back is still their favorite hangout area, despite seeing rats there a couple more times, so they head over, chatting the entire time about how exciting and illegal this is. With a thunk, Michael sets his backpack down on the desk. “You ready, duder?” he asks.

“I was _born_ ready,” Jeremy answers.

Michael had already done his research on how to use a pipe- though he hadn't practiced, since he didn't want to take it out at home- so it doesn't come as too much of a challenge.

As he takes it out, Jeremy grins in awe. “Oh, man, you didn't tell me it was _pretty.”_

And it _is_ quite pretty- the clear glass is splashed with hues of red and blue, curling up towards the bowl and around the circumference of the tail end. Michael nods. “Well… I saw it had both of our favorite colors, so I thought it was a good match.”

“Ah. Does the pipe choose the smoker?” Jeremy asks. “Y'know, like in-”

“Aw, nerd, you told me you were over your Harry Potter phase,” Michael teases. “But I dunno. I guess it did feel a little like fate.” He hands the pipe to Jeremy, who inspects it as Michael digs out the plastic baggy of weed from his backpack, along with the lighter. “Okay, so first you gotta put the weed in the bowl.”

“Well, _duh,”_ Jeremy says, and holds the pipe as Michael diligently packs it, lighter towards the bottom of the bowl and more dense at the top. He handles it like it's holy.

Jeremy hands the pipe back to Michael. With a snapping noise, the flame of Michael's lighter comes alive, and he brings it to the cusp of the bowl, setting alight the weed. It smells… odd. He's smelled it before- of course he has, he goes to Middle Borough High School- but it's never been up close and personal like this before. Michael puts his lips to the end of the stem of the pipe and breathes in deep. The harsh air creeps into his lungs and tosses and turns there until he breathes it out, watching the smoke unfurl and drift up toward the ceiling. The smoke has mostly left his lungs when he starts coughing. “God, that shit’s rough,” he says, voice ragged.

“You good?” Jeremy asks, leaning over towards him. “Need me to clap you on the back?”

Michael coughs a few more times, then shakes his head. “Nah, nah, I'm good,” he says, and passes the pipe and lighter over to Jeremy. “Here.”

When he’s got the pipe lit, Jeremy mimics Michael and takes a breath in, but coughs it out almost immediately, barely getting any of the smoke. “Shit, you weren't kidding,” he says. “Lemme try again.”

“Puff and pass, man. Gimme,” Michael says, and takes the pipe back from Jeremy for another hit. When he lights it this time, he can keep it in better; he still coughs a little, but it looks like he's more of a natural at it than Jeremy. Poor kid had asthma when he was younger; as he and his lungs grew, it became essentially a non issue, but maybe he wasn't the best equipped to smoke pot.

The thought doesn't stay long in Michael's mind, though, because he's taking another hit off the pipe, and then it's Jeremy's turn and it's easier for him the second time, naturally, but he still doesn't get much, and fifteen minutes later it's kicking in ever so subtly- Michael's still not sure if he's high or not. He just feels… different. He runs a hand through his hair and asks, “Well? What do you feel?”

Jeremy shrugs. “I dunno… kinda the same.”

“Mm.” Michael lays back on the desk, letting his head fall over the side. The blood rushes to it as he stares at the dingy, cobwebbed wall. “I feel kinda fuzzy, I think.”

Jeremy lays back as well, on his stomach instead of his back, and looks inquisitively over at Michael. “‘Kinda fuzzy’?” he repeats. “What's that mean?”

“Just, like… thoughts don't stick around,” Michael says. “Say something that'll make me anxious.”

“Uhh… have you finished that history paper that's due on Wednesday?” Jeremy asks.

No, he has not. He hasn't even finished his first draft. Michael frowns as he's reminded of it. “Uh… no,” he answers. But the anxiety fades into oblivion as he searches his brain for a neutral topic to think about. “Do you remember that really good cotton candy from the county fair?” His mind latches to it, thinking with a ravenous appetite about the soft pink floss; the paper is completely forgotten.

“Yeah, man. That shit’s good,” Jeremy agrees, closing his eyes. “We're going there again this summer, right? We totally should.”

“Of course, dude, I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Michael says. “And we'll get lots of cotton candy.”

“Niiice.” Jeremy is silent for a while before he adds, “I think I'm a little high.”

“Really?”

“Just a little.”

“Niiiiiice.” Michael grins at the wall. “We shoulda done this at home, though. I wanna watch the Matrix.”

“Why the Matrix?” Jeremy asks.

“I've heard it's good to watch when you're on drugs. I don't know which ones, though. Maybe all of them.” Michael turns his head to look at Jeremy, whose face is a soft red from the blood rushing to it. It's sorta cute. “It's on Netflix, though. I guess we could watch it on my phone.”

“It'll eat up your data,” Jeremy points out.

Michael shrugs. “It's okay. My moms will pay for it.” He sits up, and the world takes its sweet time refocusing; it's like the frame rate has gone down. “My brain is like an old computer,” he notes out loud. “Can't play TF2 on this baby.”

“I can't believe I understand what you mean,” Jeremy says after he sits up as well, no doubt experiencing the same thing, though probably to a lesser degree. “C’mon, boot it up. I wanna see my sweet boy Keanu Reeves.”

“Hold your horses, bruhddy.” It takes Michael a while- the password in particular gives him problems- but he manages to get Netflix up and running, navigating to the Matrix in his list, where it's been since it was added to the site.

Forty five minutes later and Michael and Jeremy are losing their goddamn _minds._ “This is insane,” Michael breathes. “Jeremy, oh my Christ, we're living in the matrix. We're in the matrix, dude.”

Jeremy, meanwhile, has been reduced to tears, staring down at the screen and whining, “I think my brain broke. I love Keanu Reeves so much, I think I'm gonna puke.”

“You're not gonna puke, bud,” Michael says. “Now, shh. We're missing the dialogue.”

“The closed captions are on, though.”

“I can't fucking… _read,_ dude. I've never read a word in my _life,”_ Michael says.

“Fine, fine,” Jeremy says, and quiets down.

And he leans in, and his hair, smoothed down over and over, body repetitive behavior, brushes against Michael's cheek, and, goddamn, he's gonna cry, too.

He knows he's gay! He does. He's known for over a year. But the drugs make it so much… should he say worse? Not worse, just so much _more_. He's high as a kite and his best friend is cute, and he can feel his breath, he thinks, or maybe it's his own; as the sounds of the movie echo into the stark, dim room, Michael feels himself… he doesn't know what he feels.

He feels like hugging Jeremy. Really hugging him.

He feels like latching onto the nearest living breathing thing, which is, of course, Jeremy, and kissing it to death.

It's a perk. That person being Jeremy, it's a perk.

He's high and he's falling in love and he's watching the Matrix in an abandoned building and he's high and wow. That's… a lot for one guy to take.

“Hey, Jeremy?” Michael asks, and Jeremy looks at him with wide blue eyes that shimmer with Reeves-induced tears, mirroring the ones that threaten to prick at his own.

“Yeah?” he asks in return.

“...Nothing,” Michael answers, and swallows sharply. “Nothing at all.”

 

Jeremy's worried. He's _really_ worried, because Michael's been acting weird for a while now. He looks like there's something he wants to say, like there's always something on the tip of his tongue that he can't bring himself to spit out. Except… he thinks that's about to change.

See, as they were walking home from school, Michael had asked him, tone uncharacteristically somber, “Can we go to the Key Food? There's… y'know, something I wanna talk about.”

And that's big. That's _huge._ Because only big things get Talked About At The Key Food. Sure, it's been visited plenty of times for smoking pot and urban exploration and shit in the year since they found it, but if they're going there specifically to talk… that means something.

So here they are now, climbing up the slight slope leading up to the Key Food, taking in the familiar sight of the broken door, glass kicked out in a square now- people were tired of getting cut on the sharp edges. Jeremy almost wonders why nobody's broken the lock from the inside, but it _is_ a little fun to have to crawl through the broken door, so it's probably that. Adds to the ambience.

This time, they don't go to the little office in the back. Michael wordlessly leads him over to the deli, stepping past the formerly meat-filled shelves and the long-disused cash register. They've been back here a few times, but never on a regular basis; it doesn’t have a window like the office, so they could never watch the sunset or see how the moonlight reflects off the snow. It's apparently where Michael wants to be right now, though, so Jeremy goes along with it.

There's a table in a back room, presumably where the people working the deli would take breaks, and Michael lifts himself up onto it, then pats the wood beside him. Jeremy follows obediently. “So… what's the deal?” he asks, eyeing Michael with a mix of intrigue and concern.

Michael is silent for a long time, staring at his shoes as he taps the dusty wood of the table with two fingers. Finally, he says, “I had this, uh, this whole script planned out, but now that I'm here for real, it all sounds so stupid.”

“You're safe, though, right?” Jeremy asks, voice bordering on frantic. “You're worrying me, dude. Are you, like… _sick?”_

Michael shakes his head rapidly. “No! No, no, I'm not sick or anything, I just-” He breathes out deep, breathes in deeper. “I'm going to tell you something, and it might change how you think of me.”

Oh, man.

Michael's gay.

“I'm gay,” Michael says.

Jeremy blinks. That's fine. Of _course_ it's fine, he's no homophobe; it's legal and it doesn't hurt anyone. It's just… before he went on the internet and started to actually meet gay people, he'd been sort of an asshole.  “I am so sorry.”

Michael flinches away like he's been slapped. “Sorry for what? It's just who I am.”

“No, not that, I… it’s just that… I'm sorry for not knowing,” Jeremy says. “And about all the things I said, all that dumb bullshit when I was younger, and like, stupider.”

Michael sighs out and reaches out to put a hand on Jeremy's shoulder, but rescinds the gesture a centimeter away. “It's okay, man,” he says. “It never… I mean, it bothered me, but you've learned.”

Still, Jeremy is embarrassed- ashamed, even. Sure, he was just a kid, but even now, he's learning. What if he says something shitty and hurts Michael's feelings? “I don't know how I'm supposed to react in this situation,” he admits. “Should I congratulate you, or…?”

That gets a laugh out of Michael. “I mean, that'd be nice, but it's not exactly an expectation. Just, like, show support.” He pauses. “Dude, I'm guiding you through _my_ coming out, that's wild. Doofus.”

“I'm bad in social situations! You know that,” Jeremy says. Hesitantly- is it leading him on if he touches him?- he places a hand on Michael's shoulder. “I really do support you. And I appreciate you telling me. If anyone gives you shit, I'll beat ‘em up.”

Michael snorts in amusement. “Oh, I'm sure you will.”

Jeremy sticks out his tongue, then says, “Look, I'll learn how to punch. ‘s not my fault I'm skinny.” Maybe someday he'll be muscular. He could get a personal trainer who would tell him to work out, or, better yet, someone who could control his brain and just… make him. But that's irrelevant. “I will, though. I'll try.”

“Just report ‘em to a teacher, man,” Michael says. “I don't want you to get curbstomped. That's the opposite of productive.”

“That's fair,” Jeremy says, shrugging. “Rich could kick my ass to kingdom come.”

“Oh, definitely. He's so fucking _beefy.”_ Another pause. “...But he's not half bad looking.”

“Look,” Jeremy says, “I'm chill with you being gay, but if you're crushing on Richard Fucking Goranski, I'm gonna disown your ass.”

Michael grimaces, withdrawing into himself momentarily. “Oh, God, no.” And then a look comes over him that Jeremy can't quite decipher. It looks almost like sadness, but softer. He looks with almost a… a _tender_ gaze at Jeremy.

Whatever that means.

“Well, good,” Jeremy replies eventually. “Jake Dillinger is more handsome anyway.” That's sorta gay, but eh.

Michael nods. “In my professional gay opinion… Jake's really fucking hot.” He cracks a smile, finally. “Thanks for hearing me out and stuff. I know you're chill, but I was just a little… nervous. You're the only person I've told besides my moms.”

Jeremy gives him a confused look, one eyebrow raised. “Of course I'll hear you out. Dude, you're my best friend, no matter what. I don't care if you're gay or straight or somewhere in between.”

Somewhere in between is a phrase that can sum up Jeremy pretty well, he likes to think. He's in between geeky and nerdy. He's in between alto and tenor. He's in between happy and sad.

Maybe he's in between all over.

But he doesn't want to think about that right now. It may be the place, it may be the time, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it. Maybe over winter break. Maybe over spring break. Maybe next year, or the year after.

He pushes it off.

This is Michael's time to shine, and it's Jeremy's time to sit on the bleachers with his chin in his hands and just watch.

 

Jeremy looks so much more excited nowadays, Michael’s noticed. He smiles more. He _blushes_ more. He's more giddy, which is a word he never thought he'd use to describe him. It’s great to see- the kid’s usually pretty depressive, so whatever’s got him happy, Michael welcomes it.

“So… what's with your whole deal lately?” Michael asks as they settle down in the back office of the Key Food, Jeremy already sitting with crossed legs on the desk. “You seem pretty happy. Not that I'm complaining.”

To Michael's wholehearted disbelief, Jeremy giggles. He actually _giggles._ “I got news,” he says. “So sit down.”

Michael does so, looking at Jeremy with an impatient gaze. “Seriously, what's going on with you?”

Jeremy, surely a theatre kid in another life, leans his head back, and, with a hand over his heart, proclaims, “I'm in love!”

That takes Michael a second to process. Is this new? He hadn't even thought about Jeremy crushing on anyone. Sure, they'd had baby ones, Jeremy having a little crush on a girl in their second grade class and Michael lying to himself and pretending he even looked at girls, but that was ages ago. “...What, so you got a- a girlfriend, or something?” he asks.

“...Eh…” Jeremy scratches the back of his neck and laughs sheepishly. “Well, actually, we've never talked before.”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “...And you're in love? Do you even know her name?”

Jeremy scoffs. “Of course I know her name! She's in my math class. Her name is Christine Canigula.”

Michael's heard that name a couple times- is she in his Honors English class? Maybe that's it. “Short, Asian, a little chubby?” he asks.

Jeremy nods. “That's the one. She's so cute, oh my God.”

It's great to hear Jeremy so happy over somebody. It seems to be cheering him up, at least for the moment- who knows, it might lead to heartbreak, although for Jeremy's sake, Michael's hoping it doesn't. It's just… it hurts a bit. For God's sake, he's been into Jeremy for, what, a year now? It's a little hard to hear him talk about a crush on this girl he's never even spoken to. Why not him?

The most obvious answer, of course, is that Jeremy is straight. It can't be helped. Still, it sucks that his heart would even bother with a straight guy. It's not like there were no other gay dudes at Middle Borough, couldn't he have fallen for one of them? No, it had to be Jeremy- awkward, gangly, doofy Jeremy- for whatever reason. Punishment for something, maybe.

But he'll suck it up, push it under the rug, put it in a bottle and hide it in the liquor cabinet, because that's what Michael Mell is best at.

“Tell me about her,” he says, and the words hurt a little to say, but it's okay.

“Well, um… she's sorta goofy. She can't stay still in class very well,” Jeremy replies. “She talks about theatre a lot. I think she's gonna be in Romeo and Juliet this spring. I bet she'll get the starring role.”

“We'll have to go see her, then,” Michael says. “Even though R&J kinda sucks.”

“It's a theatrical masterpiece! It's Shakespeare, for crying out loud!” Jeremy protests. “You just have no respect for the classics.”

Michael laughs. “Alright, alright. ...I wonder if she does musicals.”

“Oh, man, I bet she has the _best_ voice,” Jeremy says, looking dreamily up at the ceiling. It's cute. Michael pushes away the thought.

“So… are you gonna ask her out?” he asks, hoping to encourage him.

Jeremy looks over at Michael and frowns. “What, are you kidding me? She's _way_ out of my league.”

“Aw, don't say that,” Michael says, patting Jeremy on the back. “At least it's not, I dunno, Chloe Valentine or something.”

Jeremy goes pale(r than usual) at the prospect of even talking to Chloe Fucking Valentine. “Yeah, yeah, yep,” he says. “That's a good point. But nah, dude, like, I couldn't ask out even an unpopular girl. I'm just… not good at talking to them. Or anyone, really. It's pretty much just you.”

A wave of tight pain goes through Michael's chest. Why did he have to be straight? Why did this have to be his life? Doesn't he deserve better? “...I’m flattered,” he says eventually. “But nah, dude, you just gotta get some practice. Go to a school dance or something. Hey, they've got that Spring Week dance coming up next Friday.”

Jeremy sighs deeply. “I guess. Only if you come with, though.”

Michael wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you asking me on a date, Heere?”

Jeremy snorts and shoves Michael playfully. “Yeah, you wish.”

“I _don’t_ wish.”

He does wish. He wishes so badly that he could be the one Jeremy was so in love with, or whatever. He wants Jeremy to be happy with whoever he’s with, or wants to be with, but God, this is gonna be hard. But he’ll do it, because he’s his best friend, and he’s not too petty to be there for him, no matter who he falls in love with that isn’t- and will never be- him.

Jeremy’s saying something now, and Michael shakes his head, removing himself from his morose daydream. “Sorry, what?”

“Oh, I was just talking about the way she dresses,” Jeremy repeats, voice full of adoration. “She wears something new every day. A lot of denim, and a lot of bright colors, and she looks good in _anything._ She even makes denim on denim look work.”

Michael laughs. “Sorry, dude, I’m not really a fashion gay- I don’t have much to add. I’m more of a music gay.” ‘More of’? No, he _invented_ being a music gay.

Jeremy shrugs. “Nah, it’s not even fashion. I dunno shit either. It’s just… she’s real cute, man.” He grins, and it lights up the room; past his head is the window, the sunset, the shining celestial halo surrounding him, painting him on a canvas of orange and yellow and pink. He looks beautiful.

Michael wishes he didn’t.

 

The dingy white walls used to feel comforting.

The view outside the window used to be beautiful.

Every inch of this abandoned grocery store used to feel like something amazing, something that was his- no, _theirs-_ and it used to be special, a home away from home, a safe haven.

Now Michael can see it for what it really is: a run down old building filled with stale air and rabies-laden rats. It smells like dust and rat shit, and it’s way too fucking cold. It feels like it wants to die.

God, he wants to die.

Why’d he come here? Does he _want_ to torture himself? What’s he going to get out of- he looks around- some wrinkled old flyers and a discarded shopping cart?

It feels so different without him.

Michael can’t even think his name. It feels like tonguing the hollow space where a tooth used to be, but worse, because a tooth is just a tooth but a best friend is all you have, if you’re him. You have your best friend and your moms and your music and that’s all you have but that’s all you _need,_ except now he’s missing a variable and the equation is out of whack and it feels like the goddamn world is ending.

He turns the sound up on his phone, blasting Fruit Bats so loud his ears hurt, _I have a feeling that good will come to you_ but it _doesn’t_ and he yanks his headphones off, eyes tearing up as he holds the worn white headband tight in one hand. The song continues. It finishes, goes to the next, which finishes as well; all the while, Michael stands in the frozen food aisle and tries to breathe in, breathe out, but his chest is tight and his lungs ache and he just wishes he could be high or drunk or unconscious or, y’know, why not try death, fuck, he’ll try anything once-

Fuck this. This is such a farce. He’s not gonna have this breakdown again, not here, not now. But, God, he does he want to break down. He hoped maybe it would stop hurting by now, a week after the party, but it doesn’t, because of _course_ it doesn’t. Why would it?

Truth be told, Michael doesn’t know what to do. He could start by burning all their shit. Fire works, fire cleanses, fire can maybe cauterize the wound that’s been left on him, so pervasive and painful that he almost feels like it should be visible, a gash on his cheek or a chunk out of his leg as if he’d been bitten by a shark. That would be more dignified. At least he would’ve gotten hurt doing something cool instead of getting hurt over something so stupid, so pathetically lame that he’s surprised it’s never happened before. Everything ends sometime.

For now, though, with fire, he’ll spark up, light a joint, get high and pretend he’s still happy, pretend this old Key Food still feels like a home.

Michael moves, ghostlike, across the dusty speckled tiles of the floor towards a long disused checkout counter. Methodically, he constructs a joint: grind the weed, make a filter, fill it, roll it, done. It's second nature by now. Maybe that's a bad thing. Sue him.

It's probably just a placebo effect- in fact, it definitely is- but Michael's anxiety starts to ease as soon as he breathes the first of the smoke into his tired lungs. Breathe in, breathe out, try not to cough. It's familiar, comforting, calming, but it's not enough to stop the aching.

...He wishes he was with Jeremy. He wishes he was somewhere warm, his basement maybe, and he wishes that he didn't want to be high all the time now, and he wishes he could react better to rejection, and above all, he wishes he wasn't still so in love.

Is God entertained? Is whatever audience his inner thoughts have enjoying this? The omnipotent witnesses to his deterioration- do they smile now? He sure hopes so. Otherwise, what's the point?

The funny thing is, if Jeremy just fucking apologized, he'd probably take him back. If he came sneaking in through that broken door, tail between his legs, Michael would welcome him. He likes to think of himself as a forgiving person, even if he's full to the brim with bile now, directed at both himself and Jeremy. But that won't happen, so he gives up on it, gives up on hearing glass crunching beneath Converse shoes as he approaches.

Laying on his back now, Michael blows smoke up into the chilly air, where it lingers for a few moments before dissipating. It's finally hitting him for real, and he welcomes the weightless feeling that starts to permeate his body, hollowing out his bones like a bird's.

He tries to think about anything else, anything at all. Maybe his mind will take him somewhere good if he just lets it. He should've brought food or his 3DS or something. All there is here is the distant white ceiling, and he reaches out to touch it, fingers only meeting dead air.

If he thinks hard, maybe he can make this feel like home again. Maybe he can make it his, bring some agency into it. He needs to _change._ Michael's shoes make a small tapping noise against the dirty tile as he slides off the counter, movements slowed from the high. He runs a hand through his hair once, twice, thrice; then, with as much determination as he can muster up in this fuzzy state, he heads to the back office.

There's the dime-a-dozen painting of little kittens in a basket, hanging crooked behind the desk. Michael tugs at the nail it's hung on til it gives, and the picture falls to the ground, a sick cracking noise echoing into the godforsaken room as the glass that encases it shatters. Good. He did that. He's here and now and he has control over the things he does.

Michael takes another hit off his joint- his second one now- and blows it out, staring at the window. It's odd- he feels somehow furious and completely at peace at the same time. Acceptance of his anger? Possibly. The window mocks him, showing him a picturesque view of the night sky, one of Jeremy’s favorite things. Irritation spikes up Michael’s back, cutting through the haze of the weed- or maybe because of the weed- and he stalks over to the window.

Splinter, shatter, crash.

Just like how he broke through the door two years (a decade, a century, a millennium) ago, Michael breaks through the window, and the shards of glass cut at his knuckles, bringing blood to the surface and making him hiss in pain. At least he feels something, _anything_ besides the high.

For better or for worse... at least he's still alive.

 

There's silence in the back office for a long, long time. It reminds Jeremy of the day in sophomore year when Michael- anxious, tongue-tied Michael- came out to him, tucked safely away in the break room at the deli. This time, though, it's a hell of a lot more somber.

Ostensibly, the two of them had made up. Jeremy technically did apologize at the play, despite the SQUIP’s best efforts to silence him, and that’s a start, but it barely scratches the surface. Besides, at that point, it was less of a proper apology and more of a cry for help. He’s gotta say something more, and he’s gotta say it soon. So that’s why he’s brought Michael back to the Key Food. A panicked look had come over him when Jeremy asked him, which he’s still a little concerned about, but if he didn’t want to go, he at least acquiesced.

“...What _happened_ here?” Jeremy finally asks, avoiding the topic they were clearly meant to be talking about. The window had been broken by what looks to be a fist, and the cat painting is in a shattered mess on the ground; papers that were once situated in a basket on the desk are strewn across the floor.

Michael looks down at his feet as they swing back and forth, heels gently tapping the wood of the desk. “I happened,” he says bleakly. “I… came back here in the beginning of November and sorta trashed the place. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“...Oh.” Jeremy purses his lips, then glances away. He forgot how deadly Michael’s temper can be if you trip his trigger. The guy’s got a lot of potential bitterness tucked neatly away, hiding beneath that cheery facade. Idly, Jeremy wonders who else knows. “That’s, um. That’s fair.”

Michael just hums in acknowledgement. “...So, what'd you bring me here to talk about?” he asks after a few beats, as if the answer isn't glaringly obvious.

Jeremy swallows sharply. He probably should've constructed a script, like he usually does. No, he'd decided to pants this one, but now he finds himself at a loss for words. Finally, he chokes out, “I, um… I owe you an apology. A better apology.”

“Yeah, you do,” Michael says, tone still uncharacteristically stone cold. It's freaky to hear- usually he's a pretty upbeat guy, whether it's forced or not. “...So let's hear it.”

“I'm _really_ sorry,” Jeremy says, and means it wholeheartedly. “I never meant to hurt you, I really didn't. I just… lost track of who I am.” The damn SQUIP was more charismatic than he could handle. How could he be so weak-willed?

“You sure did,” Michael says. “I mean… I had faith in you, dude. That you'd still be a decent friend.”

That cuts deep, somehow. Jeremy somehow can't picture anyone having faith in him- he's a B-average (former) loser and sort of an incel. Well, technically he's going out with Christine, but other than that, y'know. Why would anyone have faith in him? “I don't know what to say to that,” he says eventually. “Thank you?”

“You're welcome, I guess,” Michael says with a shrug. “I guess I wish I didn't, though. Maybe I should've given up.”

Jeremy flinches. His best friend wishes he would've given up on him, how's he supposed to deal with that? “...But you didn't.”

“Not forever. Of _course_ I didn't. After all this, you're still my best friend,” Michael says, and looks up at him for the first time. “You're still Jeremy. I still love you.”

Something about that makes Jeremy's heart feel funny. He pushes it away. “That I am,” he says, and tries to crack a smile. “And… for what it's worth, I still think of you as my best friend, too.”

“You do?” Michael asks. “Even with all your shiny new popular friends?”

“Of _course_ I do,” Jeremy answers. “Look, I love them all, but they only started liking me because I got a SQUIP. You've been by my side for twelve years.”

“Thanks, man,” Michael says. “...You're really sorry about all this, huh?”

“Yeah, Michael, I'm really sorry,” Jeremy repeats. “Truly, I am. I never meant to let it get this far.”

“Right, right.” Michael is silent for a long, long while, wherein Jeremy waits with bated breath for an answer, any sign of forgiveness. Finally: “I guess I gotta forgive you, huh? After everything… I just want things to be normal again.”

Jeremy lets himself breathe again and manages to smile genuinely. “Oh, my God. Thank you, Michael.” There's a part of him, a nigh overwhelming part, that wants to lean over and give his best friend (!) the hug of a lifetime, but he's not sure if that's appropriate. Baby steps- this bridge was almost burned; it's not safe to run across. Instead, he just says, “D'you wanna come over to my house after this? We could play video games or something. Order a pizza, maybe.”

After a long moment of thinking, Michael nods and says, “Yeah, I think I'd like that.”

 

“This place is so _cool!”_ Christine exclaims, seeming to vibrate with excitement as she stands from slipping into the Key Food through the broken door. “I know [I've been here before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947586/chapters/29874093), but it's still awesome. How did you find this place?”

“We were out on a walk, and we just… saw it,” Michael says, smiling slightly. He remembers it like it was yesterday. And, believe it or not, it's starting to feel like home again- the air is still cold and it still smells, but it's _his_ cold, smelly grocery store. Or, rather, it's theirs.

“Yeah, and Michael took it upon himself to break in,” Jeremy pipes up. “He, like, threw himself at the door until it gave.” He laughs at the recollection. “You shoulda seen it.”

“Michael, that's dangerous!” Christine says, turning back to Michael. “Didn't you get all cut up on the glass?”

“It wasn't _that_ bad,” Michael says. “I only bled a little. Just my palms. And it didn't scar or anything.”

“Still!” Christine swats at Michael's arm scoldingly. “I hope your moms patched you up afterwards.”

“Eh… they don't know about this place, actually,” Michael says sheepishly. “It's sort of a secret. You're the only other person who knows.”

“Really? I'm flattered,” Christine says, visibly surprised. “What makes me so special?”

“You're my girlfriend, dingus,” Jeremy answers, and leans over to peck Christine on the cheek. It's kind of adorable. “You're always invited.”

“And you're my friend, too, remember?” Michael adds on. “For real. You're welcome here.”

And Michael finds that the change isn't so bad. He genuinely really likes Christine- she's funny, genuine, and doofy, just what he likes in a friend. Plus, they've both got a touch of ADD, which is good bonding material. He likes spending time with her, and he's surprised to find out that he doesn't even mind it (much) when she and Jeremy are all PDA with each other. If Jeremy's happy, he's happy. Besides, there's so much they haven't shown her yet.

“There's this place where Jeremy and I usually hang out, this back office,” Michael says. “You wanna check it out? It's nothing much, but it's sort of like home.”

“Of course!” Christine says, and flaps her hands in excitement. “I love abandoned buildings and stuff. I love a lot of stuff. Are there any stray cats here ever? I _love_ cats.”

“We've seen some once or twice,” Jeremy answers. “There's this brown one with a nick in his ear that Michael named Alistair. He's pretty cute, and really friendly for a stray. Maybe he'll be here tonight.”

“Oh, I sure hope so,” Christine says with a grin.

“But keep in mind, there are also rats here. One scared the shit outta me the first night we came here,” Michael says. “Jeremy made fun of me for it.”

“Aw, Jer, that's mean!” Christine says, and pouts at her boyfriend. “Be nice to Michael. Rats are scary.”

“See? Christine’ll back me up,” Michael says, and puffs out his chest. _“Thank_ you.”

Jeremy sticks out his tongue at the two of them. “You guys suck,” he says, though he’s clearly teasing. Michael knows that now. He's pretty sure he doesn't have to worry about that ever again- the thought doesn't stop the irrational anxiety, but he trusts Jeremy.

After a few minutes, the three of them reach the back office, and Christine squeals in excitement. “Oh, my God,” she says, “is that him?”

Curled up on one corner of the desk is a brown tabby cat, looking a little rough around the edges, as all strays do. Michael grins. “Aw, yeah, that's him,” he says. “Be careful with him, though. He likes people, but he's still a little skittish around strangers.”

That doesn't deter Christine, however; she's already stepping toward the sleeping cat. When she starts to scratch it behind the ears, it wakes with a start, making a noise that Michael lovingly refers to as the Cat Activation Noise. Alistair sniffs at her hand warily, but Christine is one of the most trustworthy people there is, and the cat allows her to pet it after a few moments. “Oh, wow, he really likes me,” Christine says, smiling over at Michael and Jeremy. “Maybe I should take him home.”

That gets a laugh out of Jeremy. “I don't think that's a good idea,” he says. “See the tip of his ear that's cut off? That means he was captured and neutered, but they don't think he's fit for being a housecat.”

Christine pouts, turning back to Alistair, who's now purring. “Aw, fine. Maybe I'll see him again anyway. You guys will let me come back, right?”

“Of course! We were just talking about how you're welcome here, remember?” Michael reminds her. “You can hang out with us whenever.” Granted, he still wants some alone time with Jeremy, but he does like Christine, and he doubts she'll be all over them.

“That's great! Thank you so much, you two,” Christine says, turning her smile back to the two boys. “This place is super cool. And you guys are super cool, too.”

“Aw, thank you, babe!” Jeremy says, cheeks reddening a little.

“‘Babe’?” Michael snorts. “God, it is so weird to hear you say that.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Fine, then. Thank you, _honey.”_

“Still weird!”

Michael reaches out to muss up Jeremy's hair. “Dweebus.”

“Hey, now! Back me up here, Chrissy,” Jeremy protests, smoothing down his hair.

Christine just laughs. “Jeremy, I really like you, but you _are_ sort of a dweebus.”

“You two are bullying me!” Jeremy says. “Let's just sit and pet the cat- and Michael, that is _not_ a euphemism- and just… chill.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Michael says, and they do. It's the most at peace he's felt in a long, long, long time. Here he is, with the boy he's in love with and his girlfriend, and he's not jealous at all. At the core, the three of them are friends, and that's all that matters. Nothing can change that.

Today is a good day.

 

So, winter break has passed. So has spring break. The next year is gone, and so is the year after it. And Jeremy is finally coming to terms with his sexuality.

Looking back on it, a lot of the things he thought and felt could be filed under ‘signs of bisexuality’. People don't usually try out gay porn if they're secure in their heterosexuality- not dudes, anyway. Maybe girls do. He still doesn't know much about girls, even after all this time.

Straight guys also don't think about kissing their best friends to the point where they're kept up at night worrying about it. At first it could be brushed off as intrusive thoughts, a symptom of whatever mental illness he's got going on in his malfunctioning little head of his, but they're not like the usual ones he has. Not like the… y'know. The cutting ones.

No, the pictures he sees in his head when he thinks of Michael aren't that desperate. They're soft, tender- they feel _right,_ or at least they would if he didn't have all this… internalized homophobia. How did Michael do it? He seems so much more confident, even when he was just coming out.

At least Jeremy can be himself around him. That helps. And it helps that Christine is a lesbian, and that Rich is bi- hang on, is everyone in their little squad gay? That’s sorta awesome. But anyway- it helps that he feels accepted and welcomed.

The first of Jeremy's real, true feelings for Michael reveal themselves to him at the Key Food- where else? They're smoking, of course, but not smoking to cope, just smoking to pass the time and to bond and to have fun. It's different, and when Jeremy compares the two, he much prefers it this way.

They still use the same pipe. Michael's careful with it; it hasn't even been scratched over the years of use. The dyes still shine brilliantly through the glass, catching the rays of dying sunlight through the broken window and glimmering onto Michael's skin as he holds it, painting him stunning hues of red and blue.

Since when does Jeremy wax poetic about pipes?

But those hands… those hands make his stomach toss and turn in his gut. Jeremy watches as Michael holds the pipe firmly, yet somehow still tenderly, making every movement look effortless as per usual. Jeremy would love to reach out and grab his hand, thread his fingers into the spaces between his, but instead, he just reaches out for the pipe and lighter. “C’mon, lemme hit it,” he says, voice a little shaky.

“Yeaman shore,” Michael says, and obliges; his fingers drift slowly over Jeremy's as he places the pipe in his hands, which would be a lot to unpack while sober, but while he's high, all he can do is revel in the gentle touch.

Jeremy flicks the wheel on the lighter, and the weed is ignited; he's gotten better over the years, so when he breathes in deep, he doesn't cough it out. Instead, he holds it as long as he can, then blows it into Michael's face.

“Ugh, stop being a little goblin man,” Michael says, and waves away the smoke with one hand. “If you're trying to get me secondhand high…”

“Why would I do that? You're already stoned, bruhddy,” Jeremy says, and chuckles. “You're just fun to annoy.”

“Wow, I'm _really_ feeling the love,” Michael says with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, I do love you,” Jeremy says, and passes the pipe back to Michael.

“Gayass,” Michael teases. “Don't get sappy on me, I'm too high.”

“I'm not- I'm not _sappy,”_ Jeremy says, and swats Michael's arm. “And I'm not gay. Well, not _that_ gay.” Wait a second. Is he really gonna come out to Michael in the middle of a smoke session?

Michael raises his eyebrows. “‘Not that gay’? Might that be the sound of a gay boy in denial?”

He may as well just do it. Jeremy shakes his head. “Nah, dude, I think I’m bi or something. That’s chill, right?”

“You’re talking to the gayest person at Middle Borough,” Michael points out after taking a drag off the pipe. “Yeah, dude, I think I’m okay with you being bi.”

If Jeremy was sober, a little more attuned to the small details and not just sitting there thinking about Michael’s hands, maybe he would’ve noticed that there’s something Michael isn’t telling him. He might have noticed the spark of excitement in his eyes, or the slight shaking of his voice. Maybe he would’ve noticed the slight uptick in happiness. But he doesn’t, because all of that will come later. Instead of opening his eyes to these things, he just says, “Coolio, thanks.”

“Don’t say ‘coolio’, man, that’s the _worst,”_ Michael says, and nudges Jeremy in the shoulder with his own. “Anyway, thanks for telling me, dude. Does anyone else know?”

Jeremy shrugs. “My dad does. I was gonna tell Rich and Christine soon, y’know, on account of them being bi and a lesbian, but I wanted you to be the first to know besides family.”

“That’s weirdly thoughtful of you,” Michael says with raised eyebrows.

Jeremy takes the pipe from Michael and sets it on the desk- this is an almost serious conversation, and they’re already pretty high. “Well, I do my best,” he says, and smiles. “I guess I probably would never have figured it out without you.” Does that sound gay? That sounds gay.

Apparently Michael thinks so, too. “Oh? How did I help you figure out you’re bi, huh?” he asks, leaning over towards him a little. His reddish eyes fix on Jeremy’s own. The asshole.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Jeremy says, except those ideas are certainly right. “It’s just helpful to have an openly gay best friend. I was never scared you would judge me or anything.”

“Of course I wouldn’t, duder. I only judge you for the important stuff, like being terrible with girls.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better!” Jeremy protests, and he has; that’s a proven fact. Hey, he even had a girlfriend for about six months, before she realized she was a lesbian. It just happens sometimes.

“Yeah, alright, sure,” Michael says. He blinks, and Jeremy starts to see what he was supposed to: a soft look, a tender one. A look that wants to say something, but can’t, because it has no words.

But he doesn’t know how to decipher it, not right now. Only time will tell- and it had better tell quick.

 

It takes Jeremy another three months to figure his shit out. Three months of budding feelings blooming into full on flowers, and if he knew anything about florography, maybe he would compare it to a bouquet of red chrysanthemum rising in his throat like stomach bile- but he doesn’t, so he can’t.

The thing about Jeremy is, he’s pretty oblivious. Looking back on it, it really shouldn’t have taken him this long to figure out that there really was something building between him and Michael. Even after all this time, though, he’s a notorious dumbass, so how was he supposed to notice how touchy-feely Michael had gotten since he came out? He was already sort of a snuggly guy, always quick to give hugs. And the little gifts he buys him could just be him showing off his new salary from working as a cashier at McD’s. Is that supposed to be obvious courtship?

Regardless of the mutually agonizing time it took to put two and two together, they finally work it out.

This time there’s no weed involved, and no alcohol either, although the two of them don’t really drink that often anyway. Instead, what they have is a pair of earbuds and Michael’s Spotify Premium.

“I wanted to share something,” Michael explains, looking almost painfully anxious as the two of them trek over from his house to the Key Food.

Jeremy frowns. “Sharing something in an abandoned building…? Dude, if you weren’t my best friend of thirteen years, I would be absolutely certain that you were going to murder me and leave me in a ditch off the side of I-95.”

“Don’t be morbid,” Michael says. “It’s just… I thought it might be more fitting for somewhere special instead of, like, in my basement or something.”

“Not really helping your case here, Mell,” Jeremy says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

As it turns out, the _thing_ Michael’s been meaning to share with him is innocuous after all. When they arrive at the back office, Michael takes a pair of earbuds from his pocket and sticks the plug into the headphone jack on his phone with a soft clicking noise. “Here,” he says, holding out one of the buds for Jeremy to take.

Jeremy puts the bud in his ear, but is still a bit confused as to what Michael’s doing. “Another playlist?” he asks. “Why here? Usually you just message me the link.”

“Because it's an _important_ playlist,” Michael says, and flicks Jeremy in the temple. “C’mon, just [listen](https://open.spotify.com/user/westerburghigh/playlist/7hwu7Sc9EwL7DnVFS8JmJV).”

Jeremy looks expectantly at Michael as he queues up a playlist on Spotify. Luckily, he's got Premium, so it works without internet; within seconds, there's music coming through the phone to his ears. It's a song Jeremy loves: _(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To_ by Weezer.

Hang on.

That's a love song.

Jeremy feels his face heat up. It's gotta be a coincidence, right? This can't be flirting. Michael wouldn't like a guy like him. He's funny and cheery and genuine and unique and Jeremy is just… Jeremy. It's probably just another playlist with songs that make him happy- [ Get Happy, Loser ](https://open.spotify.com/user/westerburghigh/playlist/5QYh1mIbJWGOVDgyg7AQ62?si=eI3Eq8mES6uqo0Ei_4QL4g), vol. 3, or something. It's a pretty happy song, after all, fun and lighthearted.

The uncertainty must be showing on Jeremy's face, because Michael frowns and taps the pause button a couple minutes in. “Are… you okay?” he asks, a quake underlying his voice.

Jeremy blinks and shakes his head to clear it of the doubt and anxiety. “Yeah, yeah, I'm alright,” he says. “You can unpause it.”

Michael half looks like he wants to just drop it, but he does what Jeremy says, allowing the song to finish out. A few beats pass, and then another song makes its way into Jeremy's ear: _What I Like About You_ by the Romantics. Another love song.

Jeremy chuckles nervously. “You made a playlist of love songs?” he asks. “Why? You were never really the type to be all gushy about someone. I don't think you've talked about a crush in years.”

“Jeremy, I thought this was going to be a thousand times easier than it actually is,” Michael says, and if it’s possible to mix frustrated and affectionate, that's what he comes off as. “Just… keep listening, dude, it'll come to you.”

By the time the fifth love song rolls around- _Summertime_ by My Chemical Romance- comes on, Jeremy's a little more sure that Michael is flirting with him. He may not understand _why,_ but even his inferiority complex doesn't keep him from acknowledging the facts: Michael has taken him to Their Place and is showing him an Important Playlist that is Full Of Love Songs and is Looking At Him Expectantly.

Oh, shit, he's looking at him expectantly.

“I can't, like- I can't  just say what I think you're getting at,” Jeremy says, trying and failing to meet Michael's eyes. “Cuz if I'm wrong, it'll fuck everything up. ...Again.”

“Jeremy,” Michael says, _“tell me what you think I'm saying.”_

...So he does. With his heart tripping over itself, Jeremy chokes out, “I think you're- you're confessing to me. I think you're in love with me and I think I'm in love with you, too.”

Michael smiles a smile so fond that Jeremy thinks he could drop dead right there under his gaze. “Yeah, ya dingus,” he says. “I am.” He pauses. “It seriously took you five songs…”

“Sh-shut up!” Jeremy stammers. “I have a low self esteem and you know it. But, look… you're missing the point here.”

“Which is?”

“That I'm in love with you, too.”

It finally sets in for Michael; his eyes widen slightly, and he tenses up, tapping against the desk with two fingers. “You're in love with me. Jeremy Heere is honest to God in love with me.”

“I mean, yeah, dude, like… I've been crushing on you for months,” Jeremy says, and laughs.

“Months? Jeremy, I've been in love with you for three _years,”_ Michael says, a bright grin splitting his face. “You have have no idea. Like, oh my God, this is the best news I've ever fucking heard.”

“Michael, you got into every college we applied to,” Jeremy points out. “How is this the best news you've gotten even in the past _year?”_

“Believe it or not, I care about you more than I care about whatever school I get my business degree from,” Michael says. “Really, I do. Also, you realize I’ve never had a boyfriend before, right? I guess I was sorta… waiting for you.”

“Waiting? For _me?”_ Jeremy repeats, eyes wide with bewilderment. “Dude, why?”

“Because you’re _you,_ stupid,” Michael says, and takes out both of their earbuds so they can hear each other loud and clear. “Because I love how doofy you are. Because I love your whole deer in the headlights thing. Because I love petting your stupid fluffy hair, and I love how you get so excited about video games and stuff.”

Michael’s killing him. Michael is really, honest to God murdering Jeremy. They wouldn’t find his body for days; nobody comes to this store anymore, since it is very much abandoned. Jeremy is going to drop dead in this Key Food. He shoves his face in his hands, skin burning with a blush, and mumbles, “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Say what you feel,” Michael says, and runs his fingers through the aforementioned curly hair, trying to ease Jeremy’s anxiety.

Jeremy hums in thought, mulling over his feelings. He has plenty of them, he just… doesn’t know how to put them into words. “I don’t know. I feel like I should thank you. And like I love you a lot.” He pauses for a moment, looks up at Michael again, places his hands in his lap. “I, um… I wanna kiss you.”

“Then do it,” Michael breathes, and he does, and, goddamn, he’s _actually_ kissing Michael Mell, how crazy is that? It’s pretty fucking crazy. Michael’s a surprisingly good kisser for someone who’s- to his knowledge- never kissed before. Everything seems to come naturally to that guy, and in this case, Jeremy is definitely glad.

That isn’t to say that Jeremy’s bad, though- after all, he learned from the best how to kiss like a pro. It’s gentle at first, until Jeremy, unsure of what else to do, deepens it, pressing closer slightly to Michael and bringing a hand up to cup his cheek.

Eventually, he breaks away, looking Michael in the eyes finally and grinning like he just won the lottery. “Thanks for that,” he says softly.

“Y-yeah, no problem,” Michael says, nearly vibrating with excitement. “...Will you do it again?”

“Absolutely,” Jeremy says, and he does, and he does, and he does.

 

It doesn't seem like three and a half years since they stumbled upon the old Key Food. It feels like a century, at least, but somehow, the time still flew by. Michael marvels at it all as he stands across the road, staring as a new exterior building sign is mounted. It only seems fitting that the old Key Food would get refurbished the day before he and Jeremy head off to college; it stayed with them as a home away from home for four years, but now it’s time to move on, both for them and for the town.

“Can’t believe they’re making it into a Stop & Shop,” Jeremy mutters, arms crossed. “Really! Of all places.”

“It's not a bad chain,” Michael says. “Pretty cheap. Decent food.”

“But I wish they could’ve just left it.” Jeremy, as always, takes it a little harder than Michael. The kid’s sensitive.

Michael pats Jeremy gently on the back and nods. “Yeah, I know. It’s sad to see it go.” It’s not like Michael’s fine about it. It genuinely fucking sucks, because that was _their_ place, and now it’s just gonna be another run of the mill grocery store. Still, he tries not to get too upset over it- if he got all worked up over every bad thing that happened to him, he’d have lost his mind ages ago.

Jeremy sighs out deeply, still glaring at the construction workers. “We should look into urban exploration in Lawrence Township,” he says. “There’s probably nothing there, though. And I don’t feel like traveling to Philly every time I wanna hang out somewhere secluded.”

Michael shrugs. He hates to think about it like that, but Jeremy’s got a point. “We’ll find somewhere else to chill,” he assures him, and ruffles up his hair. “...Hey, did I ever tell you that I fell in love with you at that Key Food?”

Jeremy pauses in the middle of smoothing his hair down and looks at Michael with wide, curious eyes. “Wh- really?” There’s a light blush on his face, which is very fucking adorable, in Michael’s opinion.

“Yeah, dude,” Michael answers. “That first night we ever smoked weed. We watched the Matrix, remember? But I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Jeremy laughs, more an exhalation than anything. “That’s gay, man,” he says sheepishly- he’s never been one to give or receive affection in anything other than a ridiculously awkward way, at least not without help. “...Hang on. I think we both fell in love when we were high. Because like, I already sorta liked you, but then, remember that time we were smoking and I accidentally came out to you? I just keep thinking about holding your hands and stuff.”

“Hm.” Michael thinks on it for a long few moments. “I think we might smoke too much pot.”

“Wow, never thought I’d hear _you_ say that,” Jeremy teases, and elbows Michael in the arm. “...Really, though. Can I hold your hand?”

Michael rolls his eyes and takes Jeremy’s hand, gently rubbing circles into the back with one thumb. “We’ve only been dating for what, three months? Yeah, dweebass, you can hold my hand.”

Jeremy grins and replies, “Hey, thanks, nerd.” With a sigh, though, he turns his eyes back to the construction site. “...Everything’s gonna change, man,” he says. “You ever think about that?”

Nodding, Michael snorts in dry laughter. “Yeah, only every day of my life,” he answers. “It’s gonna be weird as hell. I know we can do it, though. ‘Cuz we’re a team, right?”

“Yeah, stupid, of course we’re a team,” Jeremy says, and leans over to kiss Michael discreetly on the cheek- they can’t do too much, not in public, due to his anxiety, but Michael accepts the kiss gratefully anyway.

“See? Alright, then. We’re gonna kick ass side by side. We’re gonna make college our _bitch,_ dude.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “You sound like Rich, bruhddy. Is he rubbing off on you?”

“Not as much as you rub off on me,” Michael jokes, and Jeremy slaps him in the arm, though he can’t manage to hold back a smile. “Ow, hey!”

Jeremy mellows out in a second, though, and his smile turns gentle. “I’ll miss this place,” he says, a fond nostalgia in his voice.

“Yeah, it was a pretty good hangout spot,” Michael agrees. He has a lot of treasured memories at that former Key Food- hell, his first kiss with his boyfriend was there, of course it’s important to him.

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nah, nah. All of Metuchen. It’s gonna be weird going away from home.”

“I thought you hated this town,” Michael says, head cocked. He’d always vented about it before- he hated their school, he hated how small it was, he hated how rainy the whole state got (although in retrospect, going to Rider wouldn’t fix any of that).

Jeremy shrugs. “I’m still gonna miss it. I don’t really like change. Besides,” he says, gesturing with his head toward the Key Food/Stop & Shop/whatever, “there’s always been places I’ve loved here. And people.” He grips Michael’s hand just a bit tighter as he says it.

He’s not sure why, since it’s definitely not the softest thing Jeremy’s said to him in the three months that they’ve been together, but Michael’s heart melts. “There’s people here I love, too,” he says. “Really, really love.”

Jeremy glances away, a blush rising to his face as per usual. “Well, mine’s coming with me to college. So I guess I don’t have to worry much, huh?”

Michael squeezes Jeremy’s hand back, feeling his face warm up just the slightest bit to match his boyfriend’s. “Yeah, man,” he says. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about much of anything.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love you!!  
> My tumblr is africabytoto1982, hit me up if you'd like!  
> Also I changed the story of the Key Food a bit from in the original fic I'd mentioned it in, oops, but I'm still linking it for posterity.


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